Contagious
by Deana
Summary: After an illness breaks out in the garrison, Aramis and Athos are sent to deliver a missive for the king. They both fall ill on the road, helpless and away from home. (My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for March! Also, this site is a liar, the story has exactly 10,975 words, so yes it's within the contest limit, lol!)


**Contagious**  
A Musketeer story by Deana

My entry in the Fete des Mousquetaires contest for March!

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"Achoo!"

"God bless you."

Athos sighed as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief. He and Aramis had just delivered a missive for the king; a missive important enough that it had to be delivered immediately. The problem was that every musketeer had come down with an illness; mostly just bad colds but some of them had also come down with a fever. Porthos was lucky enough to have escaped that, but he'd been awake for hours each night unable to breathe through his nose. Aramis and Athos had yet to fall ill—both of them hoping that they wouldn't at all—so when the message was brought to the garrison by Treville, the two of them were the only ones available to go.

It was a four-day ride there and back, and naturally, both Aramis and Athos had started sneezing the day after leaving Paris.

They rode on and on, dropping off the missive with relief to head back home. Aramis fell quiet along the way, and Athos was annoyed enough with his nose to not realize the significance of that. Aramis would ask Athos how he was feeling and check him for fever, but that eventually was all. Athos assumed that Aramis was suffering nasally as much as he was and wasn't up to talking, but a quiet Aramis was very _very_ bad…and Athos was abruptly reminded of that when he heard a sneeze and then a sudden thud. He turned to see his friend unexpectedly lying in the grass, and Athos quickly dismounted and rushed over, relieved to see that his friend was conscious.

Aramis lay blinking, reaching up a hand to cover his eyes.

"Aramis?" Athos said, dropping to his knees beside him. "What happened?"

"Dizzy," Aramis answered.

Athos noticed that his friend's face looked a little flushed, so felt his forehead. "You have a fever."

Aramis' answer was another sneeze.

Athos suddenly felt guilty. Aramis kept checking on _him_ , but he never thought to do the same for his friend. "How long have you been dizzy?"

"Whenever I sneeze," Aramis answered, lowering his hand and looking at him.

Athos was reminded of the last time Aramis had been ill; he'd had a severe ear infection that had literally made him faint when he sneezed*. "Did you pass out before you fell? Does your ear hurt again?"

"No and no," Aramis told him. He started to sit himself up, but Athos put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Don't," Athos said. "We're stopping here for the night." He stood and took Aramis' bedroll off his horse and laid it on the ground before helping Aramis move himself onto it.

"You're sick too," Aramis commented as he watched his friend remove the packs and saddles from their horses.

Athos sighed and it made him cough. " _I_ didn't just fall off my horse." He suddenly realized what he'd just said and cursed himself. "Are you hurt?"

Aramis accurately deduced that he'd better not lie. "Bruises." He suddenly sneezed twice in a row and his eyes nearly rolled in his head.

Athos was alarmed at the sight, but Aramis remained conscious, furiously blinking.

Aramis was aware of Athos' stare, and tried to think of something to say to get the attention off himself. "Good place to stop."

Athos looked around to see why and realized that there was a stream nearby. He picked up their waterskins and shook them, finding them both nearly empty. He looked at Aramis, to the stream, and then to Aramis again before saying, "Are you still dizzy?"

"No," Aramis lied.

"We should move closer to the stream," said Athos. "Especially if—" a sneeze cut him off.

"Especially if what?" asked Aramis.

"Especially if your fever rises," Athos continued, as he headed over to him.

That was a good point; they'd need the water.

Aramis sat up and Athos got behind him and stuck his hands under his arms to pull him upright. No sooner were they up than Aramis sneezed and rocked back into Athos, who stumbled back a step.

Aramis closed his eyes with a soft moan.

Athos held onto him tightly, waiting until he was steady. After Aramis straightened, he loosened his grip. "Why is this happening to you if it's not your ear again?"

Aramis sighed. "I don't know."

Athos held onto him as they headed towards the horses, desperately hoping that Aramis wasn't falling 'spectacularly ill', as Treville had once described it. Aramis had a reputation for being hit hard when ill, and Athos really didn't want that to happen again...for _all_ their sakes.

Athos had Aramis take the horses' reins while he held onto his friend's arm. They slowly walked closer to the water, and Aramis sneezed again, twice in a row. He immediately tipped into Athos, who caught him and held him upright.

"Ugh," Aramis moaned, covering his eyes with one hand.

"You sure your ear is fine?" Athos asked.

"Yes." Aramis pulled away and swayed for a second, before continuing to walk.

Athos reconsidered stopping, fearing that Aramis needed to get back to the garrison immediately. He opened his mouth to suggest it, but Aramis sneezed again and so did he, so when Aramis lost his balance, Athos lost his grip and his friend landed on his knees.

Athos quickly grabbed him and knelt beside him, surprised when Aramis dropped his head onto his shoulder. Yes, they were definitely staying the night.

Aramis' breath was stuttery against the side of Athos' neck, showing how serious the dizziness was. With a sigh, Athos opened his mouth to speak just as a sneeze started to build, and he turned his head to avoid getting Aramis in the face.

He sneezed on his friend's hair instead.

Athos inhaled sharply with dismay before sniffing. "I'm so sorry," he said, sniffing again when his nose started running, but not wanting to let go of Aramis if he couldn't sit up on his own.

Aramis suddenly chuckled. "It doesn't matter since I'm already sick." He chuckled again. "Some man I am—some musketeer!—I fall down when I sneeze!"

Athos put his hand on Aramis' forehead and found that he felt hotter than he thought. "Just take it easy," he said. His nose was still running and he sniffed again furiously. "Can I let go of you for a moment?"

Aramis slowly raised his head in answer.

Athos carefully let go and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, blowing his nose and dropping it to the ground when he realized that it was completely unusable now. "Can you walk?" he asked.

"As long as I don't sneeze," said Aramis, with another chuckle.

Athos realized that the fever was affecting his friend's normal behavior, and he pulled him upright and wrapped an arm around Aramis as they headed the rest of the way to the river.

They made it without further incident, and Athos placed Aramis' bedroll on the ground before helping Aramis lower himself down onto it.

"ACHOO!" A sneeze erupted from Aramis and he dropped heavily onto his rear end. "Ooof!" he said with a wince.

Athos sighed, which made him cough. He grabbed Aramis' pack and placed it behind his friend to keep him reclined before getting out the medical kit and pouring water over a cloth. "Keep this here and don't move," he said, placing it on Aramis' forehead.

Aramis flinched at the feel of the cold water on his hot skin, but obeyed.

Ten minutes later, camp was set up with a fire blazing. Athos was going through their pack of food, getting frustrated when Aramis didn't want anything in it.

"You constantly tell us that we need to eat in order to maintain our strength," said Athos. "Why do you not follow your own advice?"

"I'm not hungry," Aramis mumbled, eyes closed. "At all."

"Is your stomach bothering you?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head slightly and opened his eyes, wiping a drop of water that escaped from the wet cloth on his forehead. "No...I just feel like I can't eat a single bite." He suddenly sneezed again, and had to put his hand on the cloth to avoid it slipping off. He coughed after that, before wincing and reclosing his eyes when everything started to spin.

Athos sighed. "Have some water, at least," he said, uncapping it and holding it to his friend's lips in case he was too dizzy to do it himself.

Aramis took it and drank, noting that Athos didn't let go. "You don't have to take care of me," he said, once finished. "I'm fine."

Athos removed the wet cloth on his forehead and checked his fever. "Says the man who's nearly burning up," he said, sarcastically.

"Exaggeration," said Aramis, in denial. "Plus, the fire is contributing."

Athos turned to look at the fire, which they weren't that close to for that very reason.

Aramis sneezed again and fell quiet, holding in a groan in order to save face.

The evening eventually started to darken, and their symptoms continued to worsen. They were both constantly coughing, and the sneezing seemed to never stop.

Athos, who was hardly ever sick, found it hard to deal with, and as he watched Aramis breathe heavily through another dizzy spell, he wondered how his friend survived falling ill so often. "I don't understand," he suddenly said.

"Understand what?" Aramis asked, eyes still closed. His voice sounded strained.

"Why some people fall ill more often than others," Athos replied. "And _worse_ than others."

Aramis took a few more breaths before opening his eyes, which looked glassy because of his fever. "I don't know. Perhaps it has to do with the way we're raised. We're you a healthy child?"

Athos nodded. "Very."

"I wasn't," Aramis told him. "I've told you that I had trouble breathing as a child. I couldn't run with my friends, and when I did, I paid the price. Every morning and night I had to drink a vile tea." He made a face at the memory. "If I sneakily poured it out instead, I would wake in the night wheezing. Sometimes I woke that way even if I drank it."

Athos shook his head. "I didn't realize it was that bad. So your weak constitution followed you into adulthood."

Aramis shrugged. "I'm simply grateful for the ability to breathe...something that I couldn't do well for too many years."

Athos said nothing else, and their musings were interrupted by an explosive sneeze from Aramis.

"ACHOO!" *sniff* "Ugh!"

Athos handed him a cloth from the medical kit, watching him for a moment to ensure that the new dizzy spell wouldn't knock him out, before he took all the dirty handkerchiefs and cloths the few feet over to the river to wash them, so they wouldn't run out.

"He's gonna be angry," Aramis suddenly said.

"Who is?" Athos asked.

"Treville."

Athos frowned and looked over his shoulder. "Why would he— _achoo!_ —be angry?"

"We're late," Aramis answered.

Athos turned back to his washing, sniffing furiously before his nose had a chance to drip. "He'll be worried, but not angry."

"No," Aramis contradicted. "He'll be angry, and so will Porthos. Very angry."

Concerned about the odd statement, Athos put the cloths down and went back over to Aramis, coughing along the way. He knelt and removed the wet cloth from his forehead to check his fever, and found it higher. "Your fever is making you think strange things, Aramis," he worriedly told him. "Neither Treville nor Porthos will be angry; they'll be very glad to see us when we return."

Aramis said nothing, eyes closed, his cheeks flushed pink. He was breathing through his mouth due to his stuffed nose, and the sound was more audible than it should've been.

Athos laid his head on his friend's chest to listen to his lungs, but it was difficult to hear through his doublet. "Aramis," he said, gently shaking his shoulder.

Aramis moved his head slightly, but gave no response.

"Aramis," Athos said again, shaking him a little harder. "Look at me."

Aramis opened his eyes slightly, and Athos was struck by how fever-bright his eyes were. Before he had a chance to say anything, Aramis coughed, and Athos could hear the congestion. After the history with Aramis' lungs, that could be very, _very_ bad.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked, rewetting the cloth and holding it to his friend's forehead.

"Fine," Aramis answered, before coughing again.

The sound induced Athos to cough too, but he tried to hold it in. "You are definitely _not_ fine."

"Neither are you," Aramis countered, one corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile.

"I don't have a high fever," Athos told him.

"How would you know?" Aramis asked.

Athos was startled to realize that he had a point. He felt his own forehead, but the temperature seemed fine.

"That won't work," said Aramis. He reached up his own hand.

Athos grabbed it in mid-air. "Your hand won't work either, Aramis, it's too cold." He gently rubbed it between his own to warm it, doing the same with the other.

As if the movement had upset some delicate balance in Aramis' body, he suddenly started to shiver. "Cold night," he said, almost conversationally.

Athos pulled a blanket out of Aramis' pack and spread it over him, halting only long enough to sneeze again. "It's not cold, it's an effect of your fever."

Aramis gave no answer, shivering with his eyes closed.

Athos went back to the river, sneezing twice along the way. As he continued to rinse the dirty cloths, he heard Aramis sneeze three times in a row.

With a sigh, Athos brought them near the fire to dry before settling beside his friend again and rubbing at the dull ache in his forehead. He looked up when Aramis started coughing, and opened the waterskin that lay beside him.

Aramis winced as he coughed, and Athos heard a sudden, soft wheeze that sent a chill down his spine. He waited for Aramis to stop coughing before putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sit up higher," he said.

Aramis moved slightly and Athos helped to push him forward before laying his ear against one side of his friend's back. "Breathe deep," he said.

Aramis obeyed, but it made him cough halfway through. It took three tries before he could inhale a breath deep enough for Athos to hear what he suspected...and feared.

"The illness is in your lungs," he said.

Aramis tiredly nodded. "I know."

Athos imagined that Aramis recognized it very easily with the state of his lungs growing up. He carefully reclined him back again, keeping him up higher so it'd be easier to breathe. He rewet the cloth on Aramis' forehead and adjusted the blanket that covered him. "Sleep if you can."

Aramis sneezed, before giving a slight chuckle. "Not very likely."

Athos squeezed his shoulder and gave him more water, hoping that his friend's condition wouldn't worsen overnight.

Naturally, it did.

Aramis' fever rose higher, and Athos had to constantly rewet the cloth. His friend became unresponsive, his eyes sometimes half-open, but mostly closed. His breathing sounded raspy going in and wheezy going out.

Athos was very nervous. They were out in the open with Aramis very ill; not only was he away from better care, but he was exposed to potential danger...especially if Athos fell asleep, which he was valiantly trying not to do in his own ill state.

Athos had seemingly just rewet the cloth on Aramis' forehead, when he suddenly heard an odd sound. Opening eyes that he hadn't realized he'd closed, he looked straight into the face of an asp viper...and it was laying across Aramis' stomach.

Panic that Athos had rarely felt in his life filled him and he didn't move, not wanting to startle it into biting Aramis, who was either asleep or unconscious. Athos watched as it slithered closer, and in one quick move, he grabbed it and flung it away from his friend, before getting to his feet and slicing it in half. Shocked over the unexpected event, he headed back over to Aramis and sat beside him, dropping his face into one hand as he realized how close Aramis had just come to death.

"Everything changed."

The sudden voice startled Athos and he raised his head to see Aramis' eyes opened. "What?"

"When my father bought me my first pony," Aramis continued.

It was obvious that he was delirious, and Athos removed the cloth from his friend's forehead and placed his own hand there, finding no change. He rewet the cloth as he said, "How so?"

"I was finally able to keep up with my friends," Aramis said, with a slight smile. "Without having to run."

Athos smiled slightly at that.

Suddenly, Aramis started to cough, a deep rattling that quickly took his breath away.

Athos reached behind him and pushed him forward to make it easier. He fed him as much water as Aramis would drink before reclining him back against the saddle.

Aramis' eyebrows were drawn into a wince, and the wheezing coming from his lungs was louder.

Athos kept a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Aramis?"

His friend gave no reaction.

Athos squeezed his shoulder. "Aramis, open your eyes and speak to me."

It took a few seconds, but Aramis obeyed. His eyes were still glassy, looking very shiny with the reflection of the fire. "I was the first one."

Athos frowned. "The first one of what?"

"The first to get a pony." Aramis smiled and his eyes drifted shut. "It made me popular."

Athos smiled slightly. "I'm glad for you, but that isn't what I meant by 'speak'. Tell me how you feel."

"I'm fine," Aramis whispered, eyes still closed.

"No you aren't," Athos told him, letting go of his shoulder to rewet the cloth on his head. "What can I do to help?"

Aramis coughed again, but tried to suppress it.

"Is there something in your pack that you can drink?" Athos asked.

Aramis said nothing, still wheezing.

"Aramis!" Athos exclaimed, shaking his shoulder that time.

Aramis opened his eyes slightly. "Sorry. Tired."

Athos softened his grip. "I know, forgive me. Is there anything in your pack to drink that will help your lungs?"

"Yes."

Athos grabbed the pack and pulled it over. "What does it look like?"

"The bark," Aramis said.

Athos found it, and put it in a pot with some water before sneezing twice in a row. It increased his headache and he had to fight back a groan.

"Bless you," Aramis called before coughing again.

Athos blew his nose before going back to his friend. "Don't talk."

Aramis continued coughing, opening his eyes and dragging a hand to his chest.

The sight filled Athos with fear; an emotion that he didn't often feel. He grabbed his friend and pulled him forward away from the saddle again, bracing him with a hand on his back.

Aramis winced as he coughed, giving a soft groan at the end.

"Pain?" Athos asked.

Aramis closed his eyes and nodded.

Athos reclined him back again and fixed the blanket covering him before hurrying back to the fire, ignoring his headache as he fetched the tea and brought it back. He poured water from the waterskin in to cool it off, and then he fed it to his friend.

Aramis drank each drop, though it took a while as he had to stop a few times to cough or just to breathe.

As Athos put the cup down, he suddenly spotted the dead snake and had to close his eyes for a moment against the memory. Something suddenly thudded against his side, and he turned to see that it had been Aramis' hand.

"Did I ever tell you about my pony?" Aramis asked, his voice soft and slow. His body was shaking with light tremors.

Athos sighed to see that his friend was growing delirious again. He rewet the cloth on his forehead and wasn't surprised when Aramis moaned from the cold contact. "Yes. Don't talk, just rest."

Aramis' shaking increased. "It's so cold."

Athos took his own blanket out of his pack and spread it over his friend.

Aramis was quiet after that, though he didn't stop shivering.

Athos forced himself to stay awake the rest of the night, not knowing if the snake had been one of many. He diligently rewet the cloth on Aramis' head over and over and tried to feed him the tea again, but Aramis was never aware enough to swallow. He continued to cough and wheeze, though his breathing did seem easier for a time after the one cup of tea.

When the sun rose, Athos heaved a sigh of relief. He was exhausted and his head was throbbing, though he was glad to not have developed a fever or fluid in his lungs like Aramis. He tried again to get his friend to drink the tea, but he would not wake. Athos scrubbed a hand over his face as he wondered how long it would take for Aramis to grow aware; though he wasn't fit to ride, he needed to get back to the garrison immediately to be examined by a doctor.

Athos packed up the campsite before again trying to wake Aramis. His friend was very pale, with a spot of pink on each cheek caused by the fever, which hadn't lowered at all. His breathing was raspy and wheezy, and when he still didn't wake, Athos grew desperate and shook him hard. "Aramis!" he exclaimed.

A gasp was his friend's reply, and Aramis started coughing, deep and long and painfully.

Athos pulled him away from the saddle once again, letting him lean against him as he held Aramis up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't wake you any other way."

Aramis gave no reply, coughing so hard that Athos winced in sympathy. He picked up the cup of tea and waited until his friend was capable of drinking it.

Once Aramis stopped coughing, he plopped his head on Athos' shoulder, moaning softly from the pain in his lungs.

"Here," Athos said, holding the cup to his lips. He held steady as Aramis drank, before putting the empty cup down and trying to see into his friend's face.

Aramis' eyes were closed as he sat with his head on Athos' shoulder, and the wheezing was loud.

"Aramis," said Athos. "We have to get you back to the garrison."

Aramis gave no reply.

Athos tightened the arm around his back in a squeeze to get his attention. " _Aramis_ , listen: we need to leave."

At that, Aramis opened his eyes slightly. "Where are we?" he whispered.

Athos didn't expect that question, though he realized that he should've. "Not far from the garrison," he lied.

Aramis shifted, uncoordinatedly, and Athos sat him against the saddle. "Will you eat?"

"No," Aramis whispered.

Athos sighed, before giving him some water and pulling him to his feet.

Aramis reeled dizzily and Athos wrapped both arms around him to keep him upright. It was a good thing, for Aramis sneezed twice in a row and his knees buckled.

Athos rocked himself backwards to lean against his horse, succeeding in keeping them both upright. He wasn't surprised when the violent sneeze set off a coughing fit for Aramis, and it took a ridiculously long time for Athos to get them both mounted, with Aramis in front of him.

Naturally, life chose that moment to make Athos sneeze, and it made his head throb. He held in his own cough and kicked his horse into motion, hoping that they'd be in their own beds by the end of the day.

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The time passed very slowly for Athos...with Aramis barely aware of what was going on, there was no conversation. He couldn't ride very fast because he was exhausted from not sleeping all night and didn't want to risk dropping Aramis. He berated himself for how he felt, remembering all the times he'd had sleepless nights in the past...if he'd been less tired, he would've realized that it was his own illness that was making him more tired than usual.

Another sneeze broke from him, and he thought his aching head might fall off his neck. He adjusted Aramis' limp body and placed a hand on his forehead to check his fever, finding it burning just as strong as it had overnight.

With a sigh that made him cough, Athos grabbed the waterskin off his saddle and wet a cloth before holding it to his friend's forehead. "Aramis?"

His friend gave no reply. The wheezing from his lungs sounded worse.

Athos sighed again, giving him a little shake. "Aramis!"

That time he got a reaction: Aramis scrunched his eyes tighter and started to cough.

Athos held onto him tightly, waiting until he was finished. "Aramis? Can you hear me?" he asked, not sure if he was coherent.

Aramis moaned from the pain, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

Athos grabbed his friend's waterskin, which he'd filled with the tea. "Drink," he said, holding it to his lips.

Aramis obeyed, and seemingly as soon as the cool liquid touched him, his awful shivering was renewed.

Athos made him drink as much as he could, before putting the waterskin back and adjusting the blanket around his friend.

"Where?" Aramis suddenly whispered.

Athos was surprised at the question, but glad to see a spark of life. "Not far from the garrison."

Aramis appeared to accept that answer—even though Athos had said the same thing hours ago—and he said nothing else, remaining unmoving against Athos' chest, shivering and wheezing.

"Just hold on," Athos told him. "We'll be back soon. Do you hear me?"

Aramis said nothing.

"Aramis?" Athos said, jostling him slightly.

"Yes," Aramis whispered.

Athos was relieved, and kicked the horse back into motion.

Aramis was more awake after that, which meant that he was also more noisy; coughing and sneezing more often, shivering as if he was out in the snow all night. He didn't speak even if Athos asked him something, showing that though he was awake, he wasn't very aware.

Athos wondered if they would run into trouble as they rode. They were notorious for it—especially Aramis. Just as he was thinking that very thing, Aramis started coughing again, which masked the sound of five riders coming out of the woods to their left.

Athos had his arms full of his sick friend and wasn't able to draw his pistol fast enough, but it would've been pointless anyway because all five of the men had their own pistols drawn.

"It looks like you don't need that second horse," said the apparent leader.

"On the contrary," said Athos, speaking loudly over Aramis' coughing. "The horse is very important to my friend."

"Sounds like he might not be needing it soon!" said one of the others, which made everyone laugh.

Athos gave a cough of his own. "Alas, that usually _is_ true of plague."

At once, the laughing stopped and the men rode away so fast that if Athos had blinked, he might've wondered if they'd even been there at all.

A hoarse chuckle came from Aramis, and Athos looked into his face with surprise.

"That was...good...thinking..." Aramis told him.

Athos kicked his horse back into a walk. "I'm pleased that you approve."

Aramis started coughing again, even harder than before, and it sounded so painful that Athos squeezed his shoulder in support as the horse slowly walked on.

Suddenly, Aramis dragged in a ragged breath as if he couldn't breathe.

Athos pushed his friend forward away from his chest and wrapped an arm around the front of his body to keep him upright before quickly pounding him on the back. Aramis coughed again and spit in the grass over the side of the horse before groaning as he tried to catch his wheezing breath.

Athos compassionately rubbed his hand over the area that he'd struck, aware that he'd added to his pain. "All right?" he asked.

Aramis nodded his spinning head slightly, trying not to cough again. He cleared his throat and spit out more mucus before grimacing. "Ugh."

Athos grabbed the waterskin containing the tea and helped him drink more of it before checking his friend's fever. "How do you feel?" he asked again. "Your fever hasn't changed."

Aramis leaned back against him again, still wheezing. "Not good," he answered.

A chill went down Athos' spine that had nothing to do with his friend's shivering. Aramis admitting that meant that his condition was _very_ bad. "Just hold on," he said. "We'll be home soon."

Aramis nodded against his shoulder.

Athos kicked his horse back into a walk, desperately hoping that they wouldn't meet with anymore trouble along the way. He glanced down at Aramis' face to see his eyes closed. Something inside told him to keep Aramis awake, and he tried to think of something to say. "Aramis...that tea. I've seen you drink it before. Is it because you still have occasional trouble breathing?"

Aramis shook his head slightly. "Not the way you think." As if in contradiction to his words, he had to pause for a breath, which he pulled in slowly to prevent more coughing. "If I think I'm falling ill, I drink it as a precaution." He suddenly started coughing again, and it was a moment before he could speak. "For, as you can see...illnesses usually attack my lungs..."

Athos nodded. Aramis always coughed when he was ill, but Athos simply thought that Aramis preferred that tea over others. "Do you have a large supply of the bark?"

He received no answer.

"Aramis?" Athos said, jostling him a little. He needn't have feared—and wasn't sure why he was suddenly more nervous—for the wheezing proved that Aramis was alive.

Another coughing fit seized his friend, and Aramis again had to spit out more mucus.

Athos waited for an answer to his question, but it never came. "Aramis?"

"Hmm?" He'd obviously not heard him.

"Have you ever run out?"

"Yes."

"Have you a supply of the bark now?"

Aramis shook his head. "Enough left for tomorrow."

Athos shook his head; Aramis was probably going to need it for at least a week or two. "You'll never run out again," he said. "I'll make sure of it."

Aramis shifted his head slightly to look at him with surprise. "You don't have to do that." He coughed again, fighting to hold back a groan at the end.

"Have you supplied me with wine in the past?" Athos asked. "This is not some foolish vice, it concerns your health and is no trouble; you know that I have an inheritance. I will obtain more for you tomorrow."

Aramis smiled. "Thank you." Suddenly, he sneezed twice and slid sideways.

Athos let go of the reins to grab him with both hands.

Aramis sucked in a breath against the dizziness, which made him cough again. "It never ends," he said with a groan.

The next hour passed in silence as Aramis drifted off again, his fever still raging. His wheezing grew louder the longer he was out, and even sneezes and coughs from Athos didn't disturb him.

Athos had a feeling that Aramis wouldn't wake again on their journey, and he was right. When he saw the garrison gate ahead of him, he was filled with relief.

Porthos was sitting at the table watching for their return, and he wasn't surprised when he saw Aramis supported by Athos on his horse. He ran over to them and reached up. "Sick or wounded?" he urgently asked.

"Sick," said Athos, gently lowering Aramis down. "Very, _very_ sick. He needs a physician immediately."

Porthos hurried Aramis inside and to his room just as Treville came out of his office. "What happened?!"

"Aramis has a very high fever," Athos said as he followed Porthos. "The illness is in his chest."

Treville knew what that meant, knowing Aramis' history very well. He called for someone to send for a doctor, and they entered Aramis' room to find Porthos removing his jacket.

Treville put a hand on Aramis' forehead and was surprised at the amount of heat that radiated from him.

"Listen to 'im!" Porthos exclaimed. The wheezing was loud and frightening.

Treville slid an arm under Aramis and pulled him upright before standing up the pillows behind him and reclining him back to make his breathing easier. He turned to find Athos lighting the fireplace, and saw him sneeze, followed by a cough. He strode over and took Athos' arm to turn him so he could feel his forehead too.

"I'm fine," Athos told him.

Treville found no fever and heard no wheezing, so he nodded with relief. He turned back to the bed and watched as Porthos pulled a blanket over their sick friend. "It's always Aramis," he said.

Athos nodded. "His poor health as a child."

Treville nodded back with a sigh.

The doctor arrived twenty minutes later and assessed the ill musketeer, declaring him the sickest in the garrison by far. He told them that an illness in the lungs was very dangerous—which everyone already knew—and with his fever being so high, it would be foolish to raise their hopes in case he didn't recover.

Porthos nearly yanked the doctor's head off for saying that.

Treville explained Aramis' history to the doctor and that the young musketeer had suffered the same thing before and always recovered. The doctor had the same bark that Aramis used for tea and left more with them, telling them to send for him if Aramis grew worse.

The next day dawned with Aramis still out cold. He never woke to cough, and when his breathing grew so bad that they felt he was drowning, they'd sit him up and pound him on the back to force him to cough. It worked most of the time, but Aramis would drop right off again immediately after drinking the tea that they forced down his throat.

"That sound is gonna haunt me forever."

Athos glanced at Porthos before looking at Aramis again, listening to the grating whine that was his breathing. "It is not pleasant," he said.

Porthos sighed. "Stupid message for the king!" he said, rewetting the cloth on their friend's forehead. "Aramis might not have gotten this sick if he hadn't gone."

Athos nodded, before sneezing.

"How _you_ feelin'?" Porthos asked.

Athos blew his nose and sniffed. "Fine; just minor discomfort."

"Hmm," Porthos said, as if he didn't believe him. He frowned when Athos suddenly stood up. "Where you goin'?"

"To buy Aramis more of that bark."

"He has enough for today," said Porthos. "Thanks to what the doctor gave us."

"And what if the apothecary has none tomorrow?" Athos countered. "I must go now." He hesitated though, not wanting to leave Aramis should his condition suddenly deteriorate.

"Send someone else," Porthos said.

Athos nodded before fetching Aramis' writing supplies and scribing a quick note. He headed outside and sent the first musketeer he saw before going back to Aramis' room. As he reached it, he didn't expect when he found inside.

Porthos was sitting on the bed next to an awake Aramis, holding him up as he gasped and wheezed. "Athos, the tea!" Porthos said.

Athos headed to the pot near the fire and quickly poured some into a cup before bringing it back. He sipped it to make sure it wasn't too hot before putting the cup to his friend's lips.

Aramis drank it in-between trying to breathe. Once finished, he started coughing.

Porthos cringed at the sound, rubbing his friend's back when he winced from the pain in his lungs. Once the coughing fit ended, Aramis laid his head on Porthos' shoulder with a groan.

Porthos continued to rub his back. "Don't go back to sleep yet, Aramis, you gotta eat somethin'."

Aramis continued to wheeze. "No," he whispered.

"If you're queasy, it's probably from swallowin' all that gunk you're coughin' up, on an empty stomach," said Porthos. "We've got some broth up here just waitin' for ya. Please?"

Aramis knew that he was right and didn't refuse, so Athos fetched that next. Aramis sipped it hesitantly at first, until he found that it settled in his stomach just fine. Once finished, he remained leaning against his friend with his head on his shoulder, eyes half-open. He felt an odd, detached feeling in his head as if he wasn't sure of his reality, and it seemed as if the room was twice its size, effects of the high fever, he knew. It was very disconcerting, and an uncharacteristic flash of anxiety filled him. He groaned and tried to move even closer to Porthos, even though he couldn't get any closer than he already was.

Porthos tightened the grip that he had around him. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Aramis was already shivering, and it increased as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing: the opposite wall looked as if they were outside, with trees and birds where they didn't belong.

Athos saw the glazed, unfocused look in his eyes, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Aramis?"

No answer.

Porthos looked down to try to see into his face. "Aramis, what's the matter?"

Aramis blinked his eyes, still staring at the bizarre scenery. "Where are we?" he asked.

"In your room at the garrison," Athos said, squeezing his shoulder.

Aramis started to say something but nothing came out.

"What're you lookin' at?" Porthos asked.

Aramis drowsily closed his eyes, still shivering.

Athos felt his forehead and found the fever still raging. "Lie him down," he said.

Porthos started to, but Aramis' eyes reopened and he gripped Porthos' shirt.

"Take it easy," Porthos said. "We wanna make you more comfortable."

Aramis continued to shiver. "Don't leave."

"We're not leavin'," Porthos told him.

Aramis sat still staring at the wall, and something he apparently saw made him suddenly inhale sharply, causing himself to cough.

Athos and Porthos waited it out, both of them frowning at its intensity. If not for their support, Aramis would've fallen flat on his face in the bedding.

"Lie him down," Athos repeated.

Porthos did, while Aramis was too occupied to resist. He kept him propped upright to aid his breathing, watching as Athos placed the wet cloth back on his forehead.

Athos suddenly sneezed twice in a row, which made the hallucinating Aramis jump slightly.

Aramis opened his eyes and looked at the wall again. The forest scenery was suddenly covered with snow, with dead bodies scattered around.

Athos and Porthos were startled when Aramis suddenly exclaimed, "No!" and grabbed onto Porthos with both hands.

"What? What?" Porthos exclaimed.

"Stop the crows!" Aramis answered. "Hurry!"

"What crows?!" said Porthos.

"Stop the crows!" Aramis repeated.

Athos stood and quickly walked over to the wall. "Where are they, Aramis?" he asked, knowing that the only way to break his friend's hallucination was to carry out his commands.

"Everywhere!" Aramis told him. "I couldn't stop them!"

Porthos realized what he was talking about: Savoy.

Athos reached down and started batting the air as if pushing the crows off the bodies of the musketeers who had died in the massacre. "There," he said. "They're all gone, Aramis."

The trick fooled Aramis' fever-ravaged brain and Porthos shifted his position, leaning over Aramis and putting a hand on the mattress on the other side of him in an attempt to block his view of the wall. "Close your eyes and rest, Aramis, you're gonna be fine."

Aramis' only answer was another coughing fit.

The door opened five minutes later and Treville came inside. He walked over to the bed and studied his marksman, taking in his pale face with the fever-flush on both cheeks. He winced himself at the sound of his cough. "How is he?"

"Hallucinating," said Athos.

Treville looked at him sharply.

"He saw crows attacking bodies in the snow," Athos whispered, so Aramis wouldn't hear. "I had to 'stop' them in order for him to settle."

Treville sighed at that.

Aramis finally stopped coughing and laid there motionless, his breathing raspy and wheezy. His half-open eyes were glazed and bright, and it was obvious that he was watching things that only he could see. By his expression, it wasn't something pleasant.

The sight worried all three of them, and Treville went over and sat on the bed, putting a hand on his musketeer's arm. "Aramis?" he said.

No answer.

Treville squeezed his arm. "Aramis, look at me." He put a hand on the side of Aramis' face and gently turned his head towards him. The heat radiating out of his skin was extreme.

Aramis' gaze found his, but he said nothing, his breathing raspy and hitching every so often.

"You're safe at the garrison," Treville told him, unsure if Aramis was still seeing Savoy in his mind. "Close your eyes. Sleep." He rewet the cloth and patted it over Aramis' face.

The cool water increased Aramis' shivering, but he closed his eyes as commanded.

Treville placed the cloth over Aramis' forehead, holding it there and feeling the feverish heat bleed through the material. He regretted sending Aramis to deliver the king's message and scrubbed a hand down his face in dismay.

"It isn't your fault," Athos said, accurately deducing his thoughts.

"I should've known," said Treville, with a sigh. "Aramis never escapes an outbreak of illness: _never_."

Athos and Porthos both echoed the sigh, though they were glad to see that Aramis appeared to have fallen back to sleep.

Treville suddenly took something out of his doublet. "The bark, from the apothecary."

Athos took it, pleased to see the size of the package. He'd given a lot of money to the musketeer who he'd sent to purchase it.

Aramis slept for an hour before waking to cough. They gave him more tea, but instead of laying calmly afterwards, he grew restless. He'd apparently decided in his incoherent state that he wasn't going to submit to the wet cloth, and they didn't blame him, really, knowing how terribly cold he already felt. The shivering shook his body continuously, and his fevered mind saw their actions as cruel torture.

"Aramis, stop it!" Porthos said, holding him down as Athos tried to wipe his face and forehead. "We're trying to help you!"

Aramis would have none of it; eyes closed as he turned his head away from Athos.

"The doctor said to send for him if Aramis got worse," said Porthos. "I think this and hallucinatin' qualifies as 'worse'!"

Athos sighed, abandoning the wet cloth for a moment so he could blow his running nose and rub his forehead against the dull headache that he still had. Before he could reply, Aramis stilled, apparently falling back to sleep.

Porthos was surprised and let go of his friend's arms. "Huh. I guess we should've just left him alone for a minute."

Athos placed the cloth on Aramis' forehead with relief and stood to stretch his legs. He yawned and Porthos noticed.

"Hey why don't you take a nap?" Porthos said. "You're sick too."

"It's nothing," said Athos. "Certainly nothing even remotely close to _him_ ," he said, gesturing to Aramis.

Porthos nodded. "Still, I rested when _I_ was sick—the whole garrison did—but _you_ had to go on a mission _and_ take care of Aramis. Take a nap in the chair, put your feet up. You'll wake up when he starts coughing anyway."

Athos knew that Porthos was right, and he sat in his chair and put his feet up on Aramis' bed. "Wake me if anything happens."

Porthos nodded.

Athos didn't know if he'd be able to sleep with Aramis being so sick, but he was exhausted and dropped off within a few minutes.

Porthos was right that he would wake when Aramis coughed, but it was nearly three hours later and Athos hadn't moved an inch the whole time.

Aramis was wheezing terribly and Athos was out of his chair to get the tea before he even had a chance to think. He brought it back to the bed and held it ready for when Aramis stopped coughing, and as he helped him drink it, he realized that he felt much better after his sleep.

Aramis was still shivering hard, and Athos wondered if all the muscles in his body were going to ache after the fever left.

"Athos?" Aramis suddenly said.

"Yes?" Athos answered, as Porthos reclined their friend back against the pillows.

Aramis frowned as if he didn't know what he'd been about to say.

Athos felt his forehead and found the fever unchanged. He wondered with trepidation how long a body could withstand such a high temperature, and he wet the cloth again.

"Athos?" Aramis said again.

"Yes, Aramis?"

Aramis still looked confused. "I don't...I don't know."

"Rest," Athos told him as he patted the cloth over his friend's face

"I'm so cold," Aramis said as he shivered. "When can we leave?"

"Leave where?" Athos asked, even as he realized the answer and wished that he hadn't asked.

"Savoy."

Porthos sighed loudly. With Aramis feeling so cold, it made perfect sense for his fevered mind to place him back in the forest where he'd almost frozen to death.

"Marsac left me here," Aramis said next. "I want to go home."

"Aramis," Porthos said, heartbroken at those words. "You're already—"

Athos cut him off. "Just close your eyes, Aramis, the next time you open them, you'll be home."

Aramis obeyed, and was asleep again moments later.

Porthos looked at him. "That was brilliant."

Athos acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

Suppertime came, and Serge brought soup up for Aramis. "He looks bad, the poor boy!" he said as he put the bowl on the nightstand. He felt Aramis' forehead for himself and shook his head with dismay.

"He'll be fine, Serge," Porthos told him. "This is Aramis."

Serge nodded. "He will…especially with the two of you lookin' after 'im."

Porthos smiled. "Always."

He and Athos ate, trying to figure out if they should wake Aramis to eat or wait until he woke himself. Their minds were made up when their sick friend's eyes suddenly opened with a start, and he looked around as if unable to find something important.

Porthos put his empty plate down and grabbed Aramis by the upper arms. "Hey, take it easy."

"Porthos?" he said, looking straight at him. "What happened?" Speaking made him start coughing, and Porthos pulled him upright in the bed to make it easier.

Both men wondered if he was actually coherent this time. "Nothing, you're very sick," Porthos told him.

Aramis coughed long and hard, needing the tea again by the time it was over. It was distressing to see him breathe with such difficulty, and they each wondered if his childhood condition could return to stay. If that was so, then he'd be forced to give up his life as a musketeer. Both men—not even knowing each other's thoughts—chose to not even consider the possibility.

Aramis turned out to be coherent, in a way; still confused, but not hallucinating, at least. He was able to communicate even though some of the things he said didn't make sense. He let them feed him the soup, to their relief, and then he lay against his pillows with his eyes open, wheezing and not talking.

"Aramis," Athos said as he rewet the cloth for the thousandth time. "Is there anything else we can do to help you besides the tea?"

Aramis gave no reply for a few seconds before saying, "What?"

Athos repeated his question, and Aramis remained quiet for a good ten seconds before he answered. "No."

The evening dragged on and Aramis somehow remained awake, blinking tiredly when he wasn't coughing his lungs out. It wasn't easy to watch him suffer, but being awake to cough so much was clearing his lungs better than if he'd been asleep and allowing it to accumulate.

A couple of hours before midnight, Aramis grew delirious again. He kept insisting that there was some kind of danger, and trying to get out of his bed.

"Aramis, listen to me," said Athos as they held him down. "Everyone is safe, there are no threats. It's night and everyone is asleep."

"You're wrong!" Aramis told him. "They're coming and we must be ready!"

"That's your fever talkin'!" said Porthos. "Now stop this and go back to sleep!"

"I need my pistol!" Aramis exclaimed.

"You couldn't fire it right now even if you tried!" said Porthos. Aramis was still shivering so badly that he'd never be able to point it straight.

Aramis started coughing again, so Porthos sat him up. He coughed so hard that his eyes watered and spilled all down his face.

The door opened and Captain Treville came in, taking in the scene. Porthos gave him such a look of dismay that Treville strode over and sat on the bed. "Give him to me," he said, grabbing Aramis on the other side.

Porthos reluctantly let go, letting the captain wrap an arm around Aramis and hold him up. "He's delirious again," said Porthos. "Wants his pistol, thinks somethin' is wrong."

"I could hear him," said Treville. He looked up as Athos came over with a cup of tea, and they waited for Aramis to stop coughing before they helped him drink it.

Aramis nearly choked on it, but he got it down, after which he winced and laid his heavy head on Treville's shoulder. "Captain," he whispered, closing his eyes as Porthos wiped a wet towel across his face. "I need help."

Those words sent a chill down everyone's spines.

"Do you want us to fetch the doctor?" Treville nervously asked.

Aramis shook his head slightly. "Need help…defending the…garrison."

Treville tightened his hold around the sick musketeer. "There is no danger, Aramis. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then rest assured, everyone is safe."

"Everyone?" Aramis asked.

"Everyone."

"Even Athos?"

Treville and Porthos looked at Athos in surprise at Aramis' question.

"Yes, _especially_ Athos," said Treville. "He is right here in the room with us. Why do you ask that?"

"He was…ill too…"

Athos reached over and grasped Aramis' wrist. "I'm here and safe, Aramis."

Aramis opened his eyes slightly and blinked a few times. "Good," he whispered. His eyes closed and his head suddenly started to slide from Treville's shoulder.

Treville's grip around Aramis stopped him from dropping flat, and he and Porthos gently reclined him back against the pillows. "Aramis?" Treville said, tapping his cheek.

To their relief, Aramis scrunched his eyes and moved his head slightly, showing that he was still conscious.

Treville felt Aramis' forehead and took the wet cloth that Athos was holding before wiping it over Aramis' face. "If there's no change by morning, we need to get the doctor back here," he said.

The others nodded their agreement.

A half-hour later, Aramis suddenly reopened his eyes, his breathing coming in quick bursts.

"Calm down," said Treville, assuming that he was delirious again. "Everything is fine, just rest."

Aramis tried to say something, but nothing came out.

Porthos picked up one of his friend's cold hands and squeezed it. "What's wrong?" he urgently asked.

Aramis said nothing, groaning and dragging up his other hand to cover his eyes. He was still breathing in a staccato fashion, so Athos fetched him more tea. That time, he managed to drink it _before_ a coughing fit overwhelmed him. Afterwards, he continued his odd behavior of covering his eyes and breathing too fast and disjointed.

After Aramis groaned again, Porthos exclaimed, "I don't think we should wait until morning for the doctor!"

"I agree," said Athos, letting uncharacteristic anxiety show in his voice.

Treville sighed and grasped Aramis' other arm. "Aramis, tell us what's bothering you."

To their surprise, Aramis spoke. "I…don't…know."

"What are you feeling?" Treville asked.

"As if…I'm here…but not…" Aramis answered, hand still over his eyes. Suddenly he opened them and tried to sit up.

"Hey, wait," said Porthos, helping him.

Aramis leaned against his friend with another groan, again covering his eyes.

Porthos gently rubbed his hand up and down Aramis' back. A moment later, he suddenly realized that his friend's shirt was wet. He put his other hand on Aramis' forehead, and was stunned at what he felt. "He's not as hot!"

Treville and Athos felt for themselves, and each of them confirmed it.

"His fever is breaking," Treville dared to say.

Porthos kept hold of Aramis as he apparently suffered through the effects of his body finally letting go of the fever. His clothes got wetter as sweat broke out all over him, and the shivering started to calm.

"He needs a bath," Porthos eventually said. "He's drenched."

Treville nodded. "Take him over there, I'll organize the bathwater and change the sheets."

Porthos nodded, before lifting a dozing Aramis and carrying him out of the room.

Once outside, Athos led the way in the dark, and was surprised to suddenly see Serge heading towards them.

"What's happened?!" the old cook nervously asked.

"His fever has broken," Athos said with relief. "We are going to bathe him."

Serge smiled and clasped his hands together. "Thank the good Lord! I had a feelin' that you needed me; I'll wake Jacques and we'll fetch the bathwater."

Footsteps appeared behind them as the captain caught up, carrying Aramis' sweaty sheets in one arm and clean clothes in the other. "Just what I was about to do," he told Serge. "Let's go."

They headed one way while Porthos and Athos headed another, and soon, the sleepy stable boy had appeared in the bathing hall with buckets of water. They filled the tub and Aramis was soon inside. It took a moment for him to come to his senses, but when he did, his eyes opened and he looked at them with confusion.

"Your fever broke, Aramis," Treville told him. "We're cleaning you up."

Aramis could feel sticky sweat covering his face and even soaking his hair, so he made no protest, his eyes weakly closing as he put his complete trust in his closest friends.

Treville, Porthos, and Athos gently got him clean, the three men sharing a smile when Aramis made a sound of bliss while his hair was washed. Soon after, he was sitting on a chair wrapped in towels while Porthos dried his hair.

Treville was glad to see his eyes open and looking alert, though he was still very pale and wheezy and obviously still exhausted.

Suddenly, Aramis started coughing, and now that he was completely coherent again, he was more aware of the pain that it caused his lungs and he winced, grabbing onto Athos' arm and squeezing it as much as his meager strength would allow.

Just when Athos and Porthos realized that they hadn't thought to bring the tea with them, Treville produced a waterskin from the pile of clean clothes and held it to his lips.

"You thought of everything," said Athos.

"That's what makes me the captain," Treville said with a smile.

Once Aramis was dressed in clean clothes, he looked better. His body apparently decided to protest that fact by making Aramis suddenly sneeze twice in a row. His eyes dizzily rolled before sliding shut as his head dropped forward.

All three men grabbed onto him, and Athos realized that he'd never thought to mention the sneezing dizziness to the doctor.

Treville lifted Aramis' head and saw his eyes flutter, showing that he was conscious. "Back to bed with him," he said.

Any question of whether or not Aramis could walk wasn't even bothered with as Porthos lifted him again and carried him back to his room. Upon entering, Aramis had another coughing fit, but a minute after being placed in his fresh, clean bed, Aramis opened his eyes and looked around.

"Feeling better?" Treville asked.

Aramis nodded. "How long?" he asked.

"Your fever raged for nearly three days," Athos told him.

"You were delirious for most of it," Porthos said, feeling his forehead and placing a wet cloth over it to combat the light fever that still remained.

Aramis yawned, which enhanced the wheezing and made him cough again. Afterwards, he appeared to notice all the lit candles and realized that it wasn't daytime. "Tired," he said.

"Then sleep," said Athos.

Aramis closed his eyes, and after one more coughing fit, he was out like a light.

The other three men looked at each other with relief. "He beat it again," said Porthos, remembering all the other times that Aramis had been so ill.

"But this dizziness from sneezing is concerning," said Treville. "He nearly passed out just then."

"Nevermind it makin' him fall from his horse comin' back from the mission," Porthos said, shaking his head. "Lasting damage from that ear infection?"

"It seems possible," said Treville. "We should consult the physician who treated him then, once he returns to France."

"Bad timin' for him to not be here now," said Porthos, with a sigh.

They were all quiet for a moment, until a muffled sneeze from Athos broke the silence.

"I'll watch over Aramis; the two of you get some sleep," said Treville. "That's an order."

Knowing better than to protest—considering that Aramis' fever was nearly gone—Athos and Porthos slouched in their chairs with their feet up on the bed and obeyed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Aramis woke and immediately heard a bird singing. He held his breath to hear it better, but it stopped. When he let out his breath and inhaled again, he heard it once more and again held his breath only for the sound to halt. It took a third time of him doing the same thing to realize that it wasn't a bird singing…it was his lungs wheezing.

A coughing fit overwhelmed him and he felt hands lift him upright. Aramis found himself leaning against Porthos' shoulder as he coughed and coughed, with pain searing through his chest. He gasped at the pain and suddenly felt a cup touch his lips. He obediently drank the warm tea, coughing in-between sips. Once it was gone, he found himself unable to catch his breath. The wheezing sound was annoying, and he wondered how the others had put up with it for the past three days.

A hand was rubbing his back and he heard someone say the words, "More tea." The cup was touching his lips once again a moment later, and his breathing started to get easier after he drank it. When he opened his eyes, he found three concerned faces staring at him.

"Has that ever occurred before?" Athos asked.

Aramis tiredly blinked, feeling too drained to think. "What?"

"The tea not working?"

Aramis didn't have the energy to answer, and it took a lot of effort. "It always worked." He paused to take a breath. "I just needed…two cups sometimes…like now." He closed his eyes again and concentrated on breathing.

Porthos gently reclined him back against the pillows again and felt his forehead. The fever was so light that in comparison to the past three days, it was nothing.

"How are you feeling?" Captain Treville asked. "Are you in any pain beyond your lungs? We weren't ever sure of what other symptoms you had, as you didn't tell us while you were delirious."

Aramis reopened his eyes. "Headache," he said. "Muscle aches…sore throat…perhaps from coughing." His midsection hurt with each inhalation which he knew was from the coughing too. He suddenly sneezed and the room spun, making him groan and cover his eyes.

"Which brings us to our next subject," said Treville. "Aramis…you get dizzy when you sneeze."

"I noticed," Aramis answered, eyes closed.

"Lasting damage from the ear infection you suffered?"

Aramis sighed and reopened his eyes. "Possibly."

The others sighed.

As the day wore on, Aramis stayed awake for longer periods of time. He ate soup, drank the tea, coughed, and sneezed. His fever didn't vanish completely but remained very low, so they weren't too concerned.

That evening, he refused to eat, saying that he wasn't hungry.

"That's kinda hypocritical, Aramis," Porthos said with a twinkle in his eye. "How many times have you shoved food down _our_ throats when we've been wounded or sick?"

Aramis had smiled slightly but he really didn't look good, so they settled for making him drink broth and then he fell asleep.

Captain Treville stayed overnight, giving the others a chance to catch up on lost sleep. Aramis slept for hours without waking, and to Treville's dismay, his fever raised slightly. He knew it wasn't unusual though, so he simply kept the wet cloth on Aramis' forehead.

The wheeze coming from Aramis' lungs was a permanent sound, and Treville wondered was it would be like to have silence in the room. When Aramis woke to cough, the sound woke the others and Athos fetched the tea. They were relieved when Aramis fell back to sleep quickly, and he only woke one more time before dawn.

Once the sun had risen and there was adequate light, they could see that Aramis was not as pale as the days before, and when he woke again, he didn't seem quite as ill.

"How are you feeling?" Treville asked.

"Better," Aramis told them. His eyes were open all the way and he smiled. "Hungry."

Porthos laughed and left the room to fetch breakfast. By the time Aramis had finished eating it, his fever was gone.

Over the next few days, Aramis continued to sneeze and cough, but the sneezing lessened quickly. He was very weak and continued to wheeze, so they wouldn't let him out of bed until the seventh day since he'd fallen ill. They briefly helped him walk around, but he grew breathless and needed a cup of tea before he could continue.

"When one of us are recoverin' from somethin', you're always sayin' that we need to go slow," said Porthos. "Take your own advice!"

Aramis didn't like it, but had no choice.

It was two more days before he could walk to the courtyard. Coughing from the exertion, Aramis sat at the outside table and drank the cup of tea that Athos handed him.

"You warm enough?" Porthos asked, sitting beside him and reaching over to fuss with his cloak.

Amused, Aramis let him. "Yes, my friend."

Porthos continued his fussing anyway, finishing off by feeling his forehead to make sure his temperature hadn't changed. "No fever," he said with relief.

"I'm fine, Porthos," Aramis told him.

Porthos nodded and wrapped an arm around him. "Lean on me, you'll be more comfortable."

With a slight smile, Aramis did, and the warm sun relaxed him enough to send him to sleep.

Every morning after that, Aramis went outside for fresh air. As his lungs improved, he eventually started walking around to get some exercise. The awful cough diminished in intensity but remained, and he still needed the tea. Everyone feared that Aramis would always need it and it would affect his status as a musketeer, but no one brought up the subject in Aramis' presence…they had no idea that he'd wondered the same thing.

They needn't have worried: into the third week, Aramis' cough was much improved and he was only drinking the tea in the morning as a precaution and before bedtime to keep him comfortable while he slept. One night, he had a strange dream, and it triggered a memory that Aramis wasn't sure was real or not.

The next morning, he asked Athos over breakfast, "Did I hallucinate something about a snake?"

Athos didn't expect the question and stopped chewing.

Porthos noticed the reaction and said, "What happened with a snake?"

Athos grabbed his drink, downing it before he could choke. He put the cup down and looked at Aramis. "That first night…you were asleep and I was watching over you. I must've fallen asleep myself for a moment, and…I suddenly heard a sound. A hiss."

The other two stared at him as he spoke.

Athos took a deep breath. "There was a snake laying across you…an asp. I grabbed it and killed it."

Aramis was stunned.

"I didn't know if it had bitten you while I'd slept." Unable to remain his usual stoic self under the circumstances, Athos scrubbed his hand down his face as he remembered. "But then you started talking to me about the pony you had as a child, and aside from your fever, you were fine."

Aramis reached over to clasp his arm. "Don't carry blame. You were ill also and I know how difficult it is to care for someone while unwell yourself. I'm fine in every way and I thank you for your excellent care, my friend."

Athos looked at him and saw that Aramis was clear-eyed, no longer pale, and hadn't coughed after speaking…for the first time.

"If the roles had been reversed, you'd be telling me the same," Aramis said.

That was true. Athos nodded.

Aramis smiled and squeezed his arm before letting go.

Serge suddenly appeared with their breakfast and gave Aramis a big smile. "You're finally lookin' back to normal, lad!"

Aramis chuckled—again without coughing. "I've been called many things, but I can't say that 'normal' is one that I hear very often."

Porthos roared with laughter and playfully shoved at Aramis' arm.

Aramis looked at him with shock. "You wound me, my friend!" With that, he shoved him back.

As Athos watched, he gave a rare smile. Yes, things were back to normal indeed.

THE END

'Off Balance': story ID 12239330


End file.
